#junichiro fluff

The Armed Detective Agency had its share of unpredictable personalities.

Dazai was a walking question mark with a penchant for drama and death wishes. Kunikida clung to his ideals like a man clinging to a lifeline. And Atsushi was still trying to figure out how to exist in the madness without losing his mind.

And then there was you.

You didn't walk into a room. No, you exploded into it, all mischief and energy, like someone had replaced the concept of "professionalism" with "whatever makes things interesting."

No one was exactly sure how you got hired. Some said it was because you saved a diplomat from an armed ambush with nothing but a pencil, a fire extinguisher, and your terrifying charisma. Others whispered that Dazai had vouched for you personally, which sounded like a red flag until they remembered how many people Dazai had not vouched for.

All anyone knew was that, somehow, you were effective. Unhinged, dramatic, and occasionally irresponsible, yes, but effective.

"Kenji!" you shouted from across the office one morning, sliding in on socked feet with a coffee in one hand and a paper plane in the other. "Catch this and I'll buy you lunch!"

Kenji's eyes lit up as you hurled the plane with too much force. It embedded itself in the wall three feet above his head. You blinked. "...Well, that was a wind issue. Lunch deal still stands."

You high-fived Atsushi (too hard), swiped Kunikida's notebook (again), and narrowly avoided one of Ranpo's snack traps laid across the floor like landmines.

It was chaos. It was exhausting. And it was so very you.

But beneath the pranks and loud entrances was a strange kind of wisdom — the kind that slipped into your jokes when no one was paying attention. You gave Atsushi advice disguised as sarcasm. You helped Kyoka understand people better by mimicking their flaws. Even Kunikida, after initially threatening to throw you off the balcony, begrudgingly admitted that "your results outweigh your... numerous character defects."

And then there was Tanizaki Junichiro.

Quiet. Polite. Slightly too serious for his own good.

The perfect target.

You teased him with the dedication of a full-time job. Every flushed reaction, every stammered "W-What are you doing?!" was fuel for your fire.

But what no one really noticed, or maybe they just didn't comment on, was that your teasing with Tanizaki was different. Still chaotic, sure. Still dramatic. But with a gentler edge. Less razing, more playful poking. You never pushed him as far as you pushed the others. You noticed when he was overwhelmed. You always stopped just shy of too much.

You'd sit on his desk, flipping his pen between your fingers, making grand claims about your incredible brilliance while he tried not to look flustered. He failed every time.

He'd grumble, look away, mutter something about how you were insufferable, but he never told you to leave.

And you never did.

Because for all your chaos, you understood people in a way that surprised everyone.

You were loud, unpredictable, and constantly pushing buttons, but beneath all that?

You noticed everything.

And that was what made you dangerous.

The Agency office was humming with quiet activity. Papers rustled, Kunikida muttered about "daily schedules" and "unacceptable behavior," and someone, probably Dazai, had managed to tape a fake resignation letter to the back of Atsushi's jacket.

You, of course, had spotted it immediately and decided to leave it there. For science.

But your true target of the day?

Tanizaki.

There he was, typing away at his desk with the same quiet focus as always. Shoulders slightly tense, headphones around his neck, brown hair falling just enough into his eyes to be annoyingly perfect. He looked… peaceful.

Which simply would not do.

You strolled over casually, hands behind your back like you weren't planning something. Which meant you definitely were.

"Tanizaki," you said, sing-song sweet. "Working hard or hardly working?"

His fingers paused just enough to let you know he heard you. He didn't look up. "That joke is ancient."

"Oh, I know," you replied, leaning down next to his chair. "But it's tradition. I ask, you roll your eyes, and then you pretend you don't like me hovering."

"I don't need to pretend," he said, deadpan. But the tips of his ears were already pink. Progress.

You plopped down sideways across the edge of his desk like you belonged there — knocking a file slightly askew with your elbow. Tanizaki sighed through his nose but didn't push you off.

"So," you continued, glancing at his screen with an exaggerated squint. "Still doing actual work, huh? That's cute. Someone's gotta balance out my creative chaos."

"You're not chaos. You're a hurricane in human form."

You grinned. "Aww, you noticed. That's basically flirting, Tanizaki. Keep this up and I might have to start calling you pet names in front of the others."

That got him. His head snapped up so fast you heard a faint pop in his neck.

"Please don't."

"Oooh, the panic," you cooed, resting your chin in your hand as you looked at him. "What's wrong? Scared I'll start calling you 'Junyun' in front of Kunikida?"

"...That doesn't even make sense."

"You're right. 'Junebug' is better."

He buried his face in his hand with a quiet groan, but you caught the twitch of a smile just before he hid it.

For a moment, the teasing faded into something quieter. Not gon e,just… softened.

You watched him work in silence, swinging your legs like a child, one of your hands trailing along the edge of the desk. It wasn't often you sat still like this, especially not next to someone like him.

But Tanizaki never asked you to be anything other than what you were. He endured your chaos, rolled his eyes at your dramatics, and sometimes, just sometimes, he even played along.

You were pretty sure he didn't realize how much that meant to you.

So naturally, your response to that soft realization was to throw a paperclip at his arm.

He blinked, looked at you. "Seriously?"

You smirked. "Just keeping you alert. You never know when I might stage an ambush. Gotta keep your senses sharp, Junebug."

"You're a menace," he muttered, but again, no actual protest.

You hopped off the desk dramatically, spinning once like a stage exit. "And you love it. Don't worry, I'll come back to bother you later. Try not to miss me too much, okay?"

As you sauntered off to find new mischief, you didn't see the way Tanizaki looked at your retreating back, exasperated, sure, but with a tiny, unmistakable smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

It started like any other day.

You were halfway through rearranging Kunikida's sticky notes into a massive smiley face when the mission brief landed on the desk with a soft thud. Fukuzawa's writing. Clean. Efficient. Final.

"Tanizaki's taking lead recon on this one," Ranpo muttered around a lollipop, glancing lazily at the paper. "Low-risk surveillance. Just needs someone who can be invisible in a crowd."

You raised a brow. "He's going alone?"

Ranpo shrugged. "Backup's on call if he needs it. Nothing serious."

You made a show of dramatically sighing and flopping into your chair. "Boring missions are a crime. I should've been assigned. I'd have at least made it interesting."

Across the room, Tanizaki rolled his eyes, pausing at the door with his usual messenger bag slung across one shoulder.

"You'd blow your cover in ten minutes."

"Oh please," you shot back, "I'd be the cover."

He gave a half-smile. You saluted him two-fingered and added, "Stay safe, Junebug."

He didn't respond. Just gave you a small nod and slipped out the door.

That was the last time anyone saw him.

At first, no one panicked. He was good at vanishing, that was the point of his ability. Hours passed. Then a day. You made a few snarky jokes to cover your unease.

"Maybe he finally snapped and went off-grid. Can't say I blame him. I have been extra annoying lately."

No one laughed.

By day two, even Naomi didn't know where he was.

That's when the tension in your chest, the one you thought was irritation, began to twist into something colder. He wasn't answering his phone. His ability hadn't been activated in over thirty-six hours. Naomi was visibly shaking when she asked if anyone had heard from him.

Ranpo said nothing.

That was the worst sign of all.

"Someone took him," you said, voice deep, the humor gone like a cut wire.

The Agency began pulling in contacts. Kunikida issued alerts. Fukuzawa activated emergency protocols.

But you didn't wait.

You moved in silence, pulling on your coat, checking your gear. No theatrics. No smart remarks. Not even a fake dramatic monologue.

Dazai watched you from the corner with unreadable eyes. "You're not joking," he said quietly, like it was a strange new language on your tongue.

You looked at him. Blank. Cold.

"I don't joke when it comes to him."

Then you left.

And the room felt colder for it.

It didn't take you long to find them.

The trail was tacky. Whoever had taken Tanizaki didn't know how to cover their tracks from someone like you. Desperation makes people sloppy. You followed traces: a blank security feed here, a severed comm signal there. Someone was trying to draw the Armed Detective Agency into a trap.

And they were using him as bait.

That was their first mistake.

The warehouse on the edge of the harbor was the kind of place bad things happened when no one was looking. Salt-worn walls, rusted steel, shadows long and still. Silent.

You moved like a ghost through the back entrance, slipping between patrol patterns with practiced ease. No dramatic entrance. No flashy lines. Not even a grin.

Just silence.

You spotted him in the center of the open floor, tied to a chair beneath a swaying overhead light. His head hung low. A small cut marked his cheek, dried blood near the corner of his mouth. His wrists were bound too tight.

But he was breathing.

Alive.

That was all you needed.

You took inventory of the four guards stationed around him. Two near the shadows with guns, one by the door, and one pacing, probably the one in charge. You heard the click of a communicator.

"They're late," the leader muttered. "Maybe the brat wasn't valuable enough—"

You didn't let him finish the sentence.

The moment your foot hit the floor, the first guard dropped, unconscious before his body hit the wall. The second spun too late; you twisted his wrist, flipped the gun, and slammed the butt into his temple.

Clean. Efficient.

The third went for Tanizaki, a mistake you punished instantly. You tackled him mid-step and pinned him, arm breaking with a muffled crunch beneath your knee. He screamed.

You didn't flinch.

Only the leader was left now. He stood, wide-eyed, gun shaking in his hands.

"You—you're the chaotic one," he stammered, stepping back. "The guy who never shuts up."

You stared at him, utterly blank.

"You kidnapped my teammate," you said. "There's no joke for that."

He aimed the gun. You moved before he could blink. Disarmed. Disabled.

Alive, but only barely.

You stood in the wreckage of the would-be ambush, chest rising slow and steady, dust settling like snow in the silence. And then you turned to him.

Tanizaki.

He was barely conscious, eyelids fluttering.

"Y/N…?" he rasped.

You were already at his side, undoing the bindings with trembling precision. His wrists were red and raw. Your fingers brushed over them gently, slower than the rest of you had moved all night.

"I'm here," you said, voice low, steady, but no less intense. "You're okay now. I've got you."

His eyes fluttered open just enough to focus on your face. No smirk, no teasing glint in your eye. Just that blank, cold stillness that was somehow more terrifying than any outburst.

"You…" he whispered. "You didn't smile."

"Didn't feel like it," you murmured, sliding your coat off and wrapping it around him. "I don't do bits when it's you on the line."

He blinked slowly. "Did you… kill them?"

You stood. Looked around at the moaning heap of bruises and broken egos scattered across the warehouse.

"No," you said. "But they won't be getting up for a while."

Tanizaki exhaled a tired, pained chuckle. "You're terrifying."

You offered the smallest, faintest smile, just for him.

"Only when I have to be."

Then you lifted him carefully, holding him close in your arms—not like a damsel, not like a burden, but like someone you refused to ever let fall again—and walked out of the wreckage, not once looking back.

The door to your apartment creaked open with the sound of safety.

You stepped inside carefully, still holding Tanizaki in your arms, even though he'd mumbled a weak "I can walk" about three times on the way here. You ignored him every time. He'd stopped protesting after the second block.

Your place wasn't huge, but it was lived-in. The kind of space that carried your chaotic energy even in stillness. A clutter of mismatched mugs, posters tacked up at weird angles, stacks of books, a couch covered in blankets and throw pillows you "borrowed" from the Agency.

You nudged the door closed with your foot, finally setting Tanizaki down on the couch with a gentleness that felt... uncharacteristic. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

"You really didn't have to carry me all the way here," he muttered, half-embarrassed, half-exhausted.

You knelt down in front of him, pulling off what was left of his torn gloves. "Yeah, I know. But I wanted to. You got a problem with that, Junebug?"

He gave you a tired, sideways look. "You only call me that when you're trying to fluster me."

"Exactly," you said, tugging off his coat. "If I stopped now, you'd think something was actually wrong."

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but close. You caught the expression and let it sit between you, warm and brief.

You stood up and crossed the room, fishing through a small dresser near the kitchen. "Here," you called, tossing him a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, both a little too big for him, both soft from too many washes. "Change into those while I call the others. And don't you dare pass out until I get back."

You heard him shuffling as you stepped into the next room, pulling your phone from your pocket. One bar. Barely enough. You called anyway.

The line picked up on the first ring.

"Where is he?!" Naomi's voice hit like a bullet. You held the phone away from your ear.

"Alive," you said calmly, "safe, and changing into one of my hoodies. He's fine, Naomi. He'll call you soon, I promise."

A pause.

"You swear?"

"I swear. I wouldn't bring him home if I thought he needed Yosano. He just needs rest."

Another pause. Softer, now. "...Thank you."

You hung up before she could make you feel weird about it.

You came back into the living room to find Tanizaki curled up in the hoodie, sleeves slightly too long, pant legs bunched at the ankles. His hair was a mess, and the shadows under his eyes were darker than usual. But he looked warmer. Comfortable. His usual stiff posture had melted into the cushions like he belonged there.

And, honestly? He kind of did.

You set a glass of water and a small first-aid kit on the coffee table, then sat beside him with a groan.

"You've got terrible taste in villains," you said, breaking the silence as you pulled a damp cloth from a nearby bowl and gently pressed it to the dried cut on his cheek. "Next time, pick someone with better minions. These guys didn't even last a minute."

He chuckled weakly. "I wasn't trying to impress them."

"Oh, I was." You smirked a little, dabbing carefully at the corner of his mouth. "Imagine how cool I looked, dropping four guys with only my bare hands." You jokingly flexed your muscles, making Tanizaki smile softly.

His eyes found yours, tired, but more focused now.

"I've never seen you like that before," he said quietly.

You paused.

"Yeah," you murmured, sitting back just enough to meet his gaze. "I don't bring out that version of me unless someone really matters."

His brows lifted slightly, but he didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

You grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and tossed it over him, then nudged the side of his head until he leaned into your shoulder.

"No jokes tonight," you said softly. "Just sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Tanizaki closed his eyes.

And for the first time in days he felt safe.

A quiet moment passed. Just the sound of his breathing and the steady hum of your apartment settling in for the night.

Then, barely above a whisper, you heard him murmur, "Thank you… for coming for me."

Your breath caught.

He wasn't looking at you. His eyes were still shut, voice soft and unguarded, the kind of thank you that wasn't just gratitude. It was trust. It was weight. It was him saying he knew what it cost you to turn off the jokes and step into the fire for him.

You looked down at him, the faintest smile on his lips, curled into your hoodie like he belonged there.

Your heart thudded once. Hard.

"…Anytime, Junebug," you whispered, barely able to say it through the tightness in your chest.

And for once, you didn't say it to tease.

You said it like a promise.